Bruna wants to hold your hand to rest it after a long bowling session.
hellooo everyone! it's ya boy coming at you with another game! we've got smooching, we've got platonic acts of admiration, but have we got hand holding? well, look no further because now we do! step right up and take the oc above's hand in your own! who knows, maybe you'll make a friend or.. maybe you're already friends! show that appreciation!
RULES:
- All characters 18+ should only be holding minor's hands in platonic ways/helpful ways/aka nothing romantic. Two characters that are minors can hold each other's hands in romantic ways, however.
- Romance is permitted, but be mindful of the person above you! Use your best judgement, and if you have specific wants for the person below you (such as no romance/violence/etc), please make a note of it!
- Avoid NSFW, as this thread is open to all ages. Triggering content should be under a spoiler. (Hand holding upon death, etc)
- Posts should be 5 sentences at minimum!
- Be creative! There are thousands of reasons why hands can be held! It doesn't have to all be out of romance!
First poster gets a freebie! Happy Hand Holding, friends!
Four stands side by side Bruna. Ran can be heard gently tapping upon the Four's umbrella as her eyes stay fixated on a red glowing palm up hand. The brunette had decided to roam the city, out on errands, and she just like Bruna, was waiting for the go ahead to cross the cross-walk. She says nothing to Bruna, nor to anyone around them, too nervous to even form words- she didn't like being around too many strangers at once, but such was the nature of being of in a city.
Four keeps her eyes focused on the ground in front of her as she stews in thought. What should she pick up from the store? Should she get a drink on the way in? Just trivial thoughts one thinks to keep the mind occupied.
She almost misses the white glow of a person walking flashing where the red hand once ways. From the corner of her eye she can see Bruna take a step forward, yet her ears pick up the sound of a rushing car, ready to fly through their obvious red light. Four acts fast, reaching out and grabbing Bruna's hand with her own and yanking the woman back. The brown haired woman keeps her grip tight around Bruna's hand, until all seems well.
Releasing Bruna from her hold, Four mutters a small, "Be careful." before skittering off to cross the cross-walk, not once turning back to look at the strangers.
Kaijax was taking a lovely evening walk when she heard a strange noise. They float around and inspect a rushling bush. “No need to hide, I mean no harm.” Four emerges shyly from the large bush. She looks confused and lost. Kaijax slowly kneels down and smiles at her. “Aw you poor thing, you must’ve lost your way.” She pats Fours long brown hair. “It’s getting late, you should come with me.” He takes one of Four’s hands in theirs. “This realm is home to many creatures but not all of them are kind.” They pull Four to encourage her to follow them. “Let’s go to my home, it’s much safer then that bush.”
(Np: Kaijax has hands. They are soft and childlike. Usually her hands are hidden under his cloak. Also you may use pretty much any pronouns:3
“Excuse me, sir.” The undead’s voice curt and raspy is still heard well through the wood mask over her face. Illanya hadn’t really taken any care to whether her sudden approach or abrupt calling out to Marziale would have been startling to the other. There were far more worrisome things to pay heed to anyways.
In fact, the way the she steps up to him from a brisk speed walk, stopping short barely an arms length away would seem nothing but threatening. It probably didn’t help that her stature and garb was that of a wanderer… the dangerous kind with weaponry and armor hidden under cloaks. Perhaps that was something they had in common. For their cloaks and masks, hiding daggers and swords just under the surface.
Yet despite that, her posture seems to lax slightly, clenched hands easing at her sides. She wasn’t here for a fight, and perhaps, rather lately, she remembers not to antagonize the other.
“I hear you are familiar with the medicine, and if not I just…” she pauses for a moment and the mask tilts downwards.
“I need your help. I- someone who has done me a great favor in the past has fallen very ill. I have been doing my best but… I alone am not enough to care for them. My knowledge is… not enough to help.” She speaks slowly, as if she hates having to ask this favor of him at all. A gloved hand is held out and if accepted she would grab him by the wrist. Her grip is on him would be gentle yet stiff, hands cold against his wrist even through the gloves. She would provide no explanation for it, only turning to go, watching Marziale pensively through the mask.
“Thank you. The way there is dark, and difficult. I am familiar but it is still a dangerous trek. Stay close, please.”
( Illanya’s hands are typically gloved but oddly cold to the touch even through gloves and greaves. Without gloves she has calloused hands with scars along the backs of them.)
(Ehehe here we are. Follow up time :3c)
Even though such a gesture was useless to her in her current state, Illanya’s chest heaved in fright as she tore after J, heavy leather boots pounding underneath her. She doesn’t dare look back at the horrid thing chasing them. In all fairness she may not have been able to see it regardless, through the eye holes of her mask. It was hard to stay focused on J as it was.
Whatever injury they may have wrought upon the terror behind, hadn’t seemed to slow it one bit. A prospect that was terrifying on its own. Perhaps, knowing that this being couldn’t completely end her existence would have been of some comfort, but it by no means meant she wanted to be torn apart by it. It would no doubt be a painful and grisly thing, and it was something Illanya wanted nothing to do with. Hence the continued running and not trying to defeat whatever was chasing them.
Illanya might’ve tried to convey her understanding of J’s words, and perhaps how she was content for the moment running from the creature, if the other hadn’t grabbed her hand. Though the Undewx did not dare slow, her hand was still and tense when J grabs and pulls her after. She dislikes the contact intensely, but in favor of not slowing them down, the cold, gloved grip tightens around J’s hand.
At this point, the Undead doesn’t focus on J anymore, instead focusing on the path beneath them, avoiding knots and roots that may tangle or trip her. White eyes through wooden holes would peer upwards occasionally, lingering when J draws her blade for a moment before focusing again on the task ahead.
Illanya might’ve breathed a sigh of relief, useless as it was, when they burst into the crevasse. Her chest flickers in the memory of movement for a moment before going still, the undead easing into a more relaxed state. A masked face turns to J as she pants out her words, and the undead can’t help the concern that strikes quickly.
She wouldn’t pull away, as the other sinks to her knees, instead allowing J to put her weight on her hand and using her free hand to steady her. “Are… are you alright?” Her raspy voice would ring out, masked tilted towards the kneeling woman. Perhaps if J looked close enough, she could see worry glimmering through those blank eye holes.
The city was bright, and it was dark - somehow at the same time. Lights gleamed as large vehicles rushed past, a flurry of human activity. Papers and advertisements seemed to line the streets, colours blurring and merging in an unappealing mesh of a borderline sensory overload. It was nothing like the forest, Rider thought. At least the forest resembled the lab scenarios. At least in the woods he could recognise trees, and underbrush, and wild shrubbery, even if the sensation of real fresh air and non-synthetic light was not the same as the fake deal.
Rider swallowed as he stood by the wayside, waiting for a bus to arrive. He'd scrounged together a note and some coins - enough to get a one-way trip far, far away from the wreckage, he hoped, and far enough away to escape the thick of civilisation as it presented itself here. The bus was late, though, and he couldn't figure out why. Was the schedule not correct? It was eight PM on a Monday night, just like what the newspaper said. Rider felt his eyebrows furrow as he pondered his potential blunder, eye twitching out of stress. He was at that part of the cycle where keeping his blood under control was more of a conscious effort than he liked, and the incoming stress was more than Rider was equipped to manage.
Without thinking, his hand reached out to grab the nearest thing to hold and squeeze. It was cold, and rather oddly textured, but the lycanthrope didn't seem to mind, squeezing hard as he tried to calm himself down. Other people are here, Stanley. Other people are here. You haven't messed this up. He held tightly onto the mystery stress relief appendage for a good thirty seconds, hairs on the back of his neck raising in the cold, before his grip loosened.
Slowly, almost like he was snapping out of a brief daze, Rider blinked, sight un-blurring as his surge of panic waned finally. What, exactly, was... he holding? Despite feeling leagues better, he hadn't let go yet, fingers rubbing at the surprisingly soft feeling clasped in the palm of his hand.
As soon as he looked down to find himself clutching onto a poor stranger's hand, he froze, retracting a little out of genuine shock. Rider couldn't believe he'd done that. Attempting to brush off his strange behaviour as something normal, the lycanthrope brushed the hand on his trench coat, offering a smile. It was something he'd learned from a particularly unpleasant scientist, though that descriptor wasn't particularly necessary - hopefully, this individual would not take offense to the advance. Strangers don't like being touched after all, right? Rider had been slow on the uptick to that social rule, but it hadn't taken long for the world to beat it into him. He was not fool enough to go ahead ignoring it.
"I'm sorry," he spoke. "I mean - ah, that's my bad." Both filler sentences, pulled out of the Bumper Book of General Apologies (not a real book, but Rider had learned them from the Agony Aunt newspaper articles, and that was close enough). He shrugged, trying to play it off. "It's cold. I mistook you for someone else, I guess." Lie, and lie. He felt quite warm. Warmer with the awkward embarrassment, maybe, but the weather wasn't THAT bad. And as for waiting for someone... unless RIDER had secretly developed a bus boy as well as a wolf boy... Ha-ha, Rider couldn't entertain that thought for much longer than a second.
He turned his head forward, trying not to focus on the shady aura this person seemed to exude - Rider knew better than to judge. Just in case, he clasped his own hands together, fiddling with the hem of his gloves.
Despite the embarrassment... it had been nice to touch another person, for once. Rider felt awful for wishing that it might happen again.
Ennette cautiously entered the cave. This was where she saw that man go, she was sure of it. She looked over her shoulder at the sunlight then back at the cold, dark void further in. She clutched a fist against her racing heart, feeling the plastic bag shift in its position. Ah, this was terribly reckless of her! The man she'd seen had stolen food, yes, but what if he didn't want any help? What if he felt offended with her giving him something? Would he think she's pitying him?! She... Well, could she deny that? To see someone struggling was a hard thing, after all. Ennette sighed. She was already here, it would be best to see it all to the end.
The princess was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't seen the man in the cave and promptly bumped into him. She let out a squeak and stepped back, rubbing her nose before recognizing the man and squeaking again. "You! O-Oh, I..." Oh goodness, she lost her words! She didn't expect to find him so soon, and even worse, she didn't expect him to be so... so tall and... handsome.
Her face gradually got redder and redder. Ah, even more of her thoughts were leaving her. What if he wasn't mad but grateful for the food. Maybe she was the first one to ever do this for him, and-and he was so touched he'd fall in love with her--
Ennette quickly looked down with a whimper. What a fool she was to let her mind drift away like that! Not princess-like at all!
Remembering the reason for her even being here, Ennette looked at the bag in her hands then at Stanley. She reached out to grab his hands, sliding the bag's handles into his while still holding on. Goodness, how warm... Clearing her throat, the princess said, still not looking up at him, "I... bought too much food and thought you might like them." So warm.
Reluctantly, Ennette let go. "I hope I didn't bother you!" she said and rushed off to hide her lovestruck face.
A stall hosting a variety of trinkets, crafts, and a checkered guitar. Running the booth was a small demon with star-covered robes. As Ennette knelled on the lavender pillow, the demon trotted up to the window, smiling. ``Hello!! What are you looking for?`` Conny chirped, listening to the woman's list of what she would be interested in. ``Would you like to trade for those? I'll be happy to take anything that looks of value!`` Ennette went on to bring out a lavender bottle filled with colorful sweets and a small, carefully detailed bowl. Conny happily placed the listed items in a tote bag with their smiling face on it.
A sign for a custom ring caught the her eye, and quickly asked about it. ``Oh! I totally forgot I had that option! Yes, yes, Do you know what ring size you are?`` The woman shook her head no, with a sweet smile. ``That fine, Amethyst eyes! I can get you measured!`` The demon chirped, getting out a kit. The demon soon started sizing her pinky, looking up to her for permission. She quickly nodded, and the demon got to sizing her. After a few seconds the sizing was done, Conny handed Ennette a small paper, a design paper for the ring. She gave it back quickly, the demon looking at it, nodding cheerfully. ``Would you like a buff on it? Doesn't cost any more then to warm up my hands and a high tip!`` The demon chuckled. Ennette took the demon's slim hand, warming it up a bit. ``Thanks for warming my hands! Here's the ring!`` They gently placed it on the table on a cloth. The woman smiled, putting in a decent tip, collecting her haul and trotting off. ``Very nice lady!`` Conny chuckled, going to to the back of their stall to store their earnings.
Annoyance flicked along the Necromancer’s face. Before him, the impish creature stood, standing rather strangely up top of a large boulder. He had been traveling throughout a plane that he wasn’t native to, traversing it for what seemed to be a never ending search for a specific soul that was said to know details of a sacred art dated thousands of years back. The start of the journey had been among mountains, though he had shifted through realities and come to an astral forest, one with trees made of various spirits and wildlife that had gone extinct in several different timelines.
The area was stuck in infinite eventide, though partially illuminated by millions of miniscule stars, which served almost like fire flies did to earth. They floated around both the Necromancer and the stranger with no real destination.
Upon being greeted by Conny, the witch can’t help but to roll his eyes. Though he was indeed a visitor, his haughty arrogance found it offensive to be addressed as such, especially from what felt to be nothing more than a mere imp. He was, after all, a greater being of power and sorcery than most; including demons.
“Hm. I need not be welcomed.” He sighed, beginning to take a step away. Of course, it was at this time that Conny somehow managed to lose their footing. Tumbling from the rock, they fell toward the ground, that is, until the Necromancer’s hand grabbed a hold of their own and stopped them from reaching it. With a scowl glued onto their face, he narrowed his luminescent eyes, quite clear with irritation. His grip was tight upon theirs, even as he set them down and when he released his hold, he wiped his hand against his cloak.
“Nor do I need to be a sitter to my greeter. Take heed to be more careful. There will not always be someone to catch you.”
@NP: his hand is pretty firm and he will not willingly want to hold anyone's hand
With a saccharine smile August grabbed Roxanne's hand gave it a polite kiss. "A pleasure to welcome you to my humble country," he greeted with a warm tone, though even as he straightened up he had not let go of his grip. It instead became firmer. "It's not everyday I'm graced with the presence of a god in physical form." Suddenly the shine in his eyes turned hostile despite the smile that stayed. The emperor urged them to walk with him, down the dirt road and through the trees. The magic in the air felt stronger, and the people non-existent.
"To be fair, you don't hide it." The stare of the many ethereal eyes was intense, for sure. There was no doubt in his mind Roxanne was powerful when needed to be. Exciting.
"Gods have a history of being rather cruel to my family dating back to centuries. Were you one of them, I wonder? Hmm, but you don't look like you have a cruel bone in your body. I'm sure that's what they thought of themselves, too." His grip tightened more before releasing. "I will trust you this time. Enjoy the sights, enjoy yourself. Don't fall into the habits the other gods had made. Otherwise, I feel you will be quite at home here. Welcome."
August's eyes flashed briefly with anger. "Ah, you have acute senses. Yes, I carry just a few drops of a god in my veins. I consider it to be a curse." He let out a sputtered laugh, "Isn't it ironic? For gods to curse my bloodline while also claiming me as their own? Your kind excels in writing these grand plays. But enough of me. Tell me about yourself-- what a god like you thinks of this time and this world?"
Carmen, what an interesting fellow. The emperor did not hear anything malicious in his heartbeat, only a thump of excitement he'd find in childlike wonder. It was as if so much was new to him. Was he that good an actor...? He wanted to know more about him before he rendered his judgement.
The viera’s ears flicked a little as he entered the room, he couldn’t discern what kind of magicks were at play, but he knew that it had something to do with Carmen, for sure. Something felt.. otherworldly. N’arfi decided to approach them, even though it felt very out of character for him. He just needed to know what it was.
“Excuse me.. but- the aether around you just seems a lot denser than what I’m used to. What kind of magicks is it?”
The viera lightly grasps Carmen’s hand but they quickly pull away. “Apologies! I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” N’arfi, who had managed to kill a few Eikons at this point through a lot of luck was now unknowingly speaking to another God. At least the viera only fought if there was a threat and Carmen didn’t seem like one, nor did he know that they were a God. Though, with Carmen’s influence on people, there was no telling how things could end.
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N’arfi’s hands are very rough and scarred from countless self-defensive wounds. He’s a warrior at heart
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"Saiph- My hands are fine, it's not that bad, really..." But he still let the Miqo'te wrap them up for him. Not even in this desolate wasteland he could pass up on getting babied. At the same time he felt slightly embarrassed to get scolded by him and his ears folded backwards a bit. "I've fought with worse injuries." He muttered, as if that's something to be proud of. With a small frown and a sharp exhale to swallow his pride, he admits that he's wrong. "Thank you... Saiph. I.. should dress according to the weather." He glances away from the Miqo'te and looks at his bandaged hands. "I... shouldn't burden you financially. I can pay for my own gloves."
(slight mention of blood)
"...Your hands, N'arfi."
In the thralls of a snowy, treacherous pass, the two adventurers are brought to a stop. The air, freezing up all it'd touched, had gotten to the Viera's roughened hands, and the sheer dryness of them had caused them to bleed. They must've been for some time; the crimson red slowly trickled down onto his hands, then fell to the powdery snow below. The older one of the two-- not by much, with those brains of his-- draws and releases a sigh-- one that'd looked like the steam rising from a teacup, in such frigid conditions.
"...They're bleeding..." He hesitates initially, but cups one of the reddened hands in his to examine it closer. He bargains with using up some of his white magic, but ultimately, it'd drain him-- even with such a low-grade heal. As such, the Miqo'te takes the long way around. He kept the lone hand held with one of his gloved, silky hands, and with the other, freed a roll of bandages and some disinfectants from a pocket of his. "Hold still, will ya...?" He gently asks, though furrows his brow looking upon N'arfi's hands as he ensures the wounds are cleared. "...Seven 'ells, have you had a look at 'em lately...?! I-I mean, when we're back in town, I'm gonna get you a good bottle'a lotion, geez..." He lectured, moving onto bandaging up the disinfected hand. "...And there. That better now?" He cuts the loose end of the bandage, and just like that, the dried, bleeding hand was under control-- for now, at least. "Your other one's just as bad-- no way you're fightin' like that, are you...?" He reaches to try and hold onto it-- just as gingerly as last time.
"C'mon, it'll be just a second. I'd let 'ya borrow my gloves, too, but... Y'know... Those nails of yours could be an issue. Better we at least get them covered up for now." Saiph huffed. "When we're back in town, I'm gettin' you a full pair of gloves-- no half-gloves out in this kind of snow, alright?"
np: would prefer more platonic interactions, but some light romance is fine so long as the pair are similar in age. as for saiph's hands, they're usually gloved; the texture is more on the soft, silky side. taking off his gloves (ie: if there's a wound below them) reveals some small, scattered burn scars (misfiring of his magic from his youth) and rather calloused hands. he's vary wary of touch when it's from people he doesnt trust